the mailman

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It is midnight. He comes up the walk and knocks at the door. I rush to greet him. He stands there weeping, shaking a letter at me. He tells me it contains terrible personal news. He falls to his knees. "Forgive me! Forgive me!" he pleads. I ask him inside. He wipes his eyes. His dark blue suit is like an inkstain on my crimson couch. Helpless, nervous, small, he curls up like a ball and sleeps while I compose more letters to myself in the same vein: "You shall live by inflicting pain. You shall forgive."